


The Father of Winter's Tale

by estowe



Category: BUJOLD Lois McMaster - Works, Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:56:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estowe/pseuds/estowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tahir, a Roknari divine of the Father of Winter, is known for what he is not, and seeks -- a sense of reconciliation. The story starts in the late fall, early winter after the summer of Paladin of Souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Father of Winter's Tale

Chapter 1

 

The small boat swayed in the waves, wind whipping, as it rounded the point and the town came into view. Tahir stood straighter than the mast, which creaked, its sail furled, useless; all now depended on the rowers. Those few worn souls strained at their work; freed just yesterday from slavery, they no longer rowed for their lives.

They rowed for pay, very good pay; burgeoning crowds of refugees sought immediate transport away from Jokona and the mainland. The small, simian captain who owned this fragile crate would have passengers enough for as many trips as the oarsmen could row, conveying those with gold to safety on the islands of the Roknari Archipelago. Tahir wondered if the former slaves would kill themselves rowing for coin now that they'd avoided dying from torture at the same job.

Then the jetty was in sight, teeming with an agitated mob. Tahir failed to pick out buildings in the tiny port because of the uncountable rabble, their movement rearranging the background as a swarm of ants distorts and obscures one's view of the ground below.

At a yell from the captain, the boat veered towards a partially demolished quay; most piers still stood, but some of the planks across were missing. Tahir understood that he must hoist himself onto the derelict pilings, trying his best to make shore without an ignominiously wet landing. After all, the captain couldn't afford to tie up at the crowded pier; people might frantically jump aboard and sink his boat. And, worse, not pay.

As the boat rocked close to a piling, Tahir stretched long arms out for a firm grasp and extended a long leg for a toehold on a support beam, shifting his balance to the barnacle-encrusted wood just as the boat hove out from under. His long gray and black robe opened its wings in the wind, resembling a black vulture landing.

Tahir struggled from piling to piling, warily stepping on what broken planks were left, and slowly made his way to the shore. There, two men awaited him, also wearing the gray robes of the Father of Winter. Tahir was aware also of two toughs, lacking tabards but surely soldiers of Chalion-Ibra, the Quintarians, _our conquerors_. Tahir strode up to the divines, recognized his friend Learned Musa with the slightest of nods, and faced the other.

This divine, a slight young man whose dark hair hung freely in the Chalionese style, tried to hold the strands out of his face in the brisk early winter wind which was simultaneously whipping up his open robe. Tahir looked at him in disgust. This unkempt adolescent represented all that was appalling about the Chalionese: soft, inept, disordered, inexperienced, unpolished, foolish. _And this yokel is one of those who have crushed our 600-year-old kingdom into the dust._ Tahir would have raged, once; today, he was resigned.

Eventually, the Chalionese divine pulled enough of himself together to blurt, in a laughable version of court Roknari: "Learned Tahir, divine of the Father of Winter, I arrest you on behalf of the Temples at Zagosur and Cardegoss on charges of heresy and of peculiar cruelty."

Tahir's cold expression did not change. The young divine glanced at him tentatively, clearly wondering whether Tahir had understood his much-rehearsed statement. Tahir said nothing.

Musa, rolling his large, bloodshot eyes, broke the silence, speaking in Ibran, "All right, my boy. You made your speech. Tahir comprehends, I comprehend, you're done." He gestured towards the waiting men, "Now you take us away."

The young man looked less sure than ever and peeked once more at Tahir, but followed Musa's advice, turning as the two bravos approached them and silently took guard positions beside and behind Tahir. They began the walk up towards the main road; Tahir saw several more thugs on horseback ahead and a wagon with high sides and a cloth canopy stretched across the top.

Sitting cross-legged on the wagon's floor directly across from Musa and accompanied by four guards (juveniles, Tahir observed), Tahir knew this degradation was harder on his friend than on himself. Musa, considerably older than Tahir and blessed with a wife and children, had much to lose if these usurping Quintarians further humiliated him or even executed him.

"How goes my friend?" Tahir asked gruffly in Roknari. Musa looked up, sourly, his hair, as ever, escaping from his braids in tendrils that swerved and curved like dainty snakes.

"Oh, so you remember how to talk?" Musa closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face. "That boy back there, he was so scared I thought he'd vomit."

Tahir raised one eyebrow.

"He was terrified of you!" Musa exclaimed. "They all are. These lame Quintarians," he gestured to the guards, who then whispered to each other in Ibran, "have you pegged as the fiercest Quadrene of them all — one who delights in watching children burn." The wagon hit a bump, throwing them to their sides. "You've absolutely terrified them by returning as ordered instead of staying safely on the Archipelago. They think you might use some dread magic against them. They want you publicly ripped to shreds." Musa shook his head despondently. "Tahir, my friend, I love you as a son." He looked up into Tahir's eyes, "Remember me."

Tahir sketched a nod.

Musa sighed and rearranged his legs. A grandfather and a man of solid build, he was not an age or shape to enjoy jolting about in this wagon. Neither was he the sort to expect his old friend Tahir to provide conversation.

"These heathens," Musa muttered. "I've spent my life examining our history and the teachings of our philosophers. I have exulted in our art, its intricacy of detail and fine devices. And what happens? These southerners — with the refinement of a donkey — ride in and defile all." He shrugged in dejection. "Father of Winter, they might as well burn everything. They have no idea what beauty is or what knowledge holds. It's wasted on them." Reflexively, he gave the signed the four gods, Quadrene fashion: touching his forehead, lip, navel, and heart, thumb tucked beneath his palm. Daughter, Son, Mother, Father. One of the young Quintarians let out an inarticulate sound of alarm at Musa's denial of their fifth God, the Bastard.

Tahir sympathized with his friend's melancholy; Musa was watching his life's work negated. Tahir did not hold a strong love for — anything. No ties. Nothing that he could take to his God to prove he'd lived his life well. _Ah, well, at least my death will be no loss._ He examined the Quintarians' supposition that he enjoyed torture and used magic. _There is no mirror for truth. Truth is hard and heavy and stubbly and ugly. It won't reflect for others to see. It's a painful lump, a tumor, deep inside. If they tried to dig it out, I'd die._

"My wife Lupaa says she's willing to recant her oaths to our Quadrene belief; she's open to the Quintarians. Can you believe it? She says she likes the idea that a fifth god exists for orphans. Holy Family, she's really talking about the impure: the suicides, the bastards, the sodomites. That's what I tell her, 'Those are the perverts you're endorsing. Why do you care about them when you have decent people like yourself and your family to pray for?' She says she likes the tale that the Mother of Summer gathered pieces of the Demon-Sorcerer and created another god, the Bastard, out of them. She says that story gives the Mother more respect than the real story. Our story." Musa rubbed his forehead. "Can you believe it?"

 _Oh, I believe it well. I've cherished their story for a long, long time. It's about mercy. It reflects the Gods in a way our time-honored hatred of differences has never honored the Gods' acceptance and tolerance._ Tahir closed his eyes so Musa wouldn't see his pain. _I am weak to deny the necessity of suffering. I fail my faith._

"My fear," Musa lowered his voice even though the guards couldn't understand him, "is that these Chalionese will force us on pain of death to follow Quintarianism. I can just see it happening."

Tahir nodded. _Yes, it will happen. Many will perish. Many are dying on the last battlefields as we speak. Many have died over the centuries as we fight over a single aspect of our faith. High Ones, how can humans be the product of love, as you have taught?_

The wagon slowed, and the guards stood, peeking out around the cloth covering. Yells; the wagon stopped. One guard jumped out, then called back in for everyone to alight.

A chill twilight engulfed Tahir as he clambered out, then gave Musa an arm to clasp as the older man struggled to regain his balance on creaky legs. Guards held torches and gestured; Tahir guided Musa as directed.

Before him stood two great stone towers connected by a wall in which a round arch was carved out and the archivolt decorated with winding leaves and flowers in the Roknari style. They climbed the wide stone steps to the veranda and the main entrance, but some dispute between the guards occurred and they detoured around the side of the manor and in through a plain, triangular arched doorway. There they were shuttled about and eventually left in a side room with a table and chairs, accompanied by the ubiquitous teenage guards. Musa and Tahir sat, and meat, bread, wine, cheese, and grapes were brought in.

Musa yanked a chunk of bread from the loaf while Tahir poured wine for each.

"Thanks to the Father of Winter! And the Son, too, in this season," Musa grunted, clearly needing some sustenance. "Some meat? Ah," he eased in his chair as the sweet deep red wine trickled satisfyingly down the back of his throat. Tahir ate and drank, realizing that he was very hungry. He watched Musa carefully, worrying. Musa caught the look and smiled sardonically.

"So, you think I can't take a little Quintarian questioning?"

Tahir raised his eyebrows. "Is that what we're here for?"

Musa ate a piece of meat. "I suppose so. I admit, I was surprised when the summons came; no one else at the Temple was ordered to surrender to the Chalionese." He sipped some wine. "Lupaa is certain it's because —" He stopped himself too late; Tahir knew full well that Musa was vulnerable because he had remained Tahir's friend. Four Gods, Musa was vulnerable in _Jokona_ because he was Tahir's friend.

Musa gave his head a half shake. "Anyway, I was speaking to the question of why I — why we — have been ordered to submit ourselves to this — whatever it is."

Tahir shrugged.

Musa pointed his knife — it happened to be in his hand — at Tahir. "No heroics tonight, my friend. Just tell these Quintarian fellows what they want to hear. Who knows? Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll send us home with a warning."

Tahir reached over and gently pushed Musa's knife hand down. He grimaced at his friend.

They did not have to wait long after eating before a knock at the door prompted their guards to rise and walk them back out the side door and onto the verandah, then around to the front of the building again. They entered underneath the carved arch where a massive wooden door was open. Musa marched in first, Tahir following.

More guards in a grand foyer that sported light from wall sconces and standing torches. They followed a guard to the left, entering a room on the first floor that was the length and width of the tower above. Flickering lights from sconces and chandeliers illuminated tapestries on the walls, as well as benches and chairs. The characters in the tapestries appeared to move following their own dances of fate. _Where is the noble who owns this manor? Dead already at last season's Chalionese-Ibran invasion of Gotorget? Or bleeding on some battlefield, dreaming last of this home?_

Musa and Tahir were directed towards the far wall where a long table with chairs was set up on a dais.

Two men sat in chairs in the middle of the long table. One wore the gray and black robes and carmine shoulder braid of a divine of the Father like Musa and Tahir. The second wore the badge of an Ibran general; he scowled at Tahir in open animosity, tensing in his chair.

The divine had the roundness of a man in a sedentary job; his eyes were tired, and he had a worn affect. His white hair, cut short in the Ibran style, indicated advanced age or a lifetime of anxieties. Tahir, whose long black hair was pulled tightly back from his forehead, braided, and bound at the base of his neck by the cords of braids from the sides of his head, found the divine informal and unimpressive. The divine glanced to ascertain he had everyone's attention, then started in Ibran. "I am Learned Aznaro of the Temple in Ibra at Zagosur. Let me introduce you to Castillar Pelayo dy Haro of Ibra." He gestured uncomfortably to the general, who glowered and muttered impatiently to himself.

"Learned Musa and Learned Tahir," Aznaro's glanced at each in turn, "you are probably wondering why we have asked you here."

"Not asked, ordered," Musa corrected. Aznaro lifted his eyes to Tahir, who said nothing.

"You're lucky we didn't drag you," Castillar Haro growled in the voice of one accustomed to command, now frustrated by a meeting run by another. "Especially you," he eyed Tahir. "We've heard all about you."

Aznaro blinked and rubbed his forehead before addressing Musa. "Well, I agree we found it necessary to request your presence rather forcefully. However, under the circumstances —"

Haro exploded, "Learned Aznaro, this is a fool's errand, and your drivel is ludicrous. I told you — Don't talk with these treacherous Roknari heretics. You haven't seen their behavior on the battlefield, but you know perfectly well of Roknari attacks on our Temples and their rape and torture of our women and children."

Haro stood, "You Roknari are bred to kill —  your soldiers infiltrate our borders, and when they find a divine of the Bastard they begin by chopping off his thumbs, then his genitals, and eventually his tongue before they finish him off. Here are the divines who taught those filthy murderers." He pointed at Tahir. "And this one! Known for presiding over the trials and torture of helpless people — his own, Jokonans! — watching them burn at the stake like a demon from hell."

Aznaro interrupted, "General, you insisted on —"

Haro blazed, "You're a fool, Aznaro. You shouldn't be allowed to do this!" He stood, his chair bumping back with a thud, and stomped away.

Tahir caught Musa, who was swaying on his feet from exhaustion and distress. "Musa?"

Aznaro quickly signalled the two men standing guard to support the faint divine. "There's a room prepared for him in the other wing. Treat him gently." Tahir watched them help Musa walk out before he turned back to the divines. The huge room had become oddly quiet, as he realized that the only movement was the silent tapestried dance in the candlelight.

Aznaro rubbed his forehead, then waved to Tahir. "Bring yourself a chair up here."

Tahir considered refusing, but saw a comparatively light chair and hauled it over.

Aznaro sighed. "I'm afraid General Haro is indicative of Chalionese and Ibran feelings."

He waited for a response, but, receiving none, continued. "The onset of this war may bring more destruction than peace to this realm." Tahir did not bother to nod.

Aznaro changed course. "You are a remarkable man, Learned Tahir. For many years — maybe a decade — I have heard your name whispered. You preside at most —well, many — trials of those demon-possessed, I've heard. Is that true?"

Tahir sat.

"But you do make a point of attending every execution that your court has handed over?"

Tahir, tightlipped, sat.

Aznaro stretched his neck and rubbed the back of his head. "Let me explain. My colleague, the Learned Aunis — a divine of the Father of Winter at the Temple at Cardegoss — has ridden with our advancing military forces in Jokona and Borasnen. Aunis, I should mention, is an historian, a senior scholar of jurisprudence." Aznaro blinked and sighed. "In another world and time, historians such as Aunis and your friend Learned Musa would have much to share.

"To go on. Learned Aunis has examined documents in your Roknari Temples. Some were discovered which predate your Archdivine Ridwan. And . . .  well, Aunis approached me with a story. Let me know if it resembles anything you've heard.

"Some years back, let's call it, say, fifteen, a tragedy occurred in the family of a brilliant divine of the Father. His young son, through pure mischance, became possessed of a demon. A horror for anyone, don't you think? I can't imagine much worse. So, as I understand the practice among Roknari, a divine was called in to wrest the demon from the child. Unfortunately, the method — the rite — for such an operation is extremely risky; many souls are ripped in the exercise of separation from a demon, leaving the body a mere husk. And the available divine had a poor record of successful exorcisms.

"I have tried to picture the despair the father of the boy experienced. The records note that he refused the services of the divine.

"The next record reports the burning of the boy with the father present. Learned Aunis knew that much from common knowledge; whispers of it have permeated even our borders. What wasn't known until the divine read these buried records that the father was in chains when he watched his son die."

Aznaro had avoided eye contact with Tahir as he spoke. Even now, the white-haired divine stared rather myopically at a chandelier.

"Ah, but I was telling a story. In my story — my recreation of stray bits into a tale — the father had refused the exorcism because he planned to flee Jokona with his son. If he made it over the mountains to Chalion or by ship to Ibra, he stood a chance of finding a Temple where a divine of the Bastard could care for the child. Maybe he with his wife and child nearly did get away. However close to safety they fled, they did not make it."

Aznaro began to draw on the table with his index finger. "No, they were caught and returned to the Temple. The boy was burned as his father watched, manacled. The mother — the wife — died soon after, a suicide, I believe."

Aznaro looked directly at Tahir for the first time since he'd begun his story. Tahir would not meet his gaze.

"Does this sound like a plausible tale, Learned Tahir?"

"It sounds . . . sad." Tahir gulped. He did not like the choking of his voice.

"Have you heard it before? Does it come close to truth?" Tahir did not respond.

Aznaro nodded. "I am going to take your silence to mean agreement," he waved his hand lightly, "well, acquiescence.

"However, there is more," Aznaro leaned towards Tahir. "The divine — perhaps it was punishment — was assigned the lion's share of demon-possession cases from that day on. He became the symbol to the larger world of Roknari cold justice. A vengeful judge, a cruel arbiter of law. All that. You've heard it, I am sure.

"But again, my story veers in another direction. Learned Aunis came across records of cases and judgments, as well as eye-witness accounts of executions of several sorts. I should explain that Aunis loves numbers and to compare lists of numbers.

"Our Roknari divine — noted for his rather boring trials of highly intellectual proofs that required a multitudinous overload of evidence — actually presided over more acquittals than any other judge. Necessarily, I picture him standing sternly — as you stand — before more than one archdivine and more than several courts of inquiry, as he refused to reverse his court's judgments. I imagine that three years ago the Temple finally gave up when it arranged his transfer to the islands. Where, I note, his court has not ordered a single execution despite the recent, disturbing, plethora of demons.

"Do you think this is possible, Learned Tahir?"

Tahir shrugged. He bit out, "Exorcising the demon without shredding apart the soul has become. . . somewhat. . . likelier."

"Are you a saint?"

"No!" gasped Tahir.

"Do you have a saint of the Bastard hidden in your Temple?" Azraro frowned grimly. When Tahir did not respond, the Ibran continued forcefully, "Then you are playing with elements far beyond your understanding or control. Many of those who survive the exorcism with tattered souls — in confusion, without memory — must wish they'd been tied to the stake."

Tahir closed his eyes. _I know this. I watch their families care for them for the rest of their lives. Everyone remembering the vibrant person who has been lost._ He swallowed, then opened his eyes.

Aznaro was watching him. "I had hoped you had a cure." Tahir felt cold sweep over him.

Aznaro paused, then deliberately sat back in his chair. "But you do have a cure, don't you? Witnesses of burnings report that after you give the convicted his final blessing, he allows himself to be tied to the stake, then closes his eyes. Learned Tahir, is he dead before the flames rise?"

Tahir put his face in his hands. He had been a fool to judge Aznaro vague or worn. The man was the Father himself. After several minutes, Tahir had pulled his wits together enough to address Aznaro. "Learned, you did not need to use an aged man like Musa as bait in order to make me bite into your hook."

"I apologize," Learned Aznaro muttered with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead. "Musa will return home tomorrow." He looked up at Tahir. "But we will talk more. We have much to talk about."

_A knock at the door. A command. Orders to leave immediately. A great black vulture, flying, searching, watching. He could see with vulture eyes, yet he could not see where he was going._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

Learned Aznaro sped Musa on his way the next morning. He was quietly amused over the Roknari divines' failure to bring any belongings. "Did you think we would deny you a change of clothes? I hope we're more subtle than that." Tahir was surprised that he and Aznaro were leaving the manor as well. "Oh, yes, we must catch up with Aunis. Learned Aunis can't be left alone for long stretches, else the divine becomes devious." Tahir wasn't sure what to make of that. He definitely wasn't pleased when Aznaro said they were headed for Visping.

The capital and major port of the princedom of Borasnen, Visping had been taken by Chalionese-Ibran forces in early autumn, effectively splitting Jokona from the three western Roknari princedoms of Vardo, Tavaki, and Jarn.  Jokona was now wedged between Ibra on the east and Chalion-controlled territories everywhere else; in another, simultaneous assault, Chalion-Ibra had taken the entire southwestern arm of Jokona and had marched into the princedom's major inland cities. Ibra, whose Roya Foix was the father of the new Chalionese-Ibran coalition's Bergon, was attacking by land and sea. Jokona was choking. While every place in Jokona and Borasnen was fraught with danger, Tahir considered Visping, the base for Chalionese-Ibran forces, even more hazardous than most.

This time they rode and their soldierly accompanists were for protection, no longer his guards. Learned Aznaro clearly was ill at ease on a mount, his roundness moving against the beast's rhythm, unlike Tahir, who found the late summer air exhilarating and the ride freeing. He had missed both riding and the mainland, especially when the leaves had fallen and the cold, clear light of winter shone. Their road dipped along streams cut deep in ravines, then up into rolling fields and leafless woodland above which he could see sharp mountains. The road was curiously empty, except for occasional refugees and packs of military patrols; in peaceful times, this was a crowded track.

Despite his obvious dislike of riding, Learned Aznaro had changed from the tired, circuitous storyteller of the night before; this morning he was relaxed and loquacious, more than ready to speak for the two of them. _Were you uncertain of Haro? Or are you perhaps a master fisherman, carefully pulling in your line with its catch?_ Tahir considered Aznaro a very dangerous man.

Learned Aznaro began with a few observations which necessitated answers. "Your black hair and eyes surprise me, Learned Tahir. The Roknari golden hair and skin are so well recognized."

"Both my mother and my grandmother were Darthacans, Learned, and dark even for the people there."

"My goodness, I had no idea the Roknari married women from so far away."

"I come from a family of sailors. You said you are of Ibra, Learned, a country renowned for its naval explorations. Have you no branches of your family tree that reflect the distance a ship can travel?"

Aznaro snorted. "Well said. My blood is as mixed as the seas, I think." He glanced at Tahir. "You have been away a long time. Three years." When Tahir didn't respond, Aznaro remarked thoughtfully, "these must have been the most important three years in recent Roknari history." At Tahir's cautious glance, Aznaro burst out, "Don't tease me, Learned! You, of all people, must be overset by your Princess Joen's behavior!"

Tahir caught his breath and almost hung his head. "I admit, I know little, and have been confused and appalled by what little I have heard. It does not make sense to me, that the Princess is dead and that her son Prince Sordso was her murderer."

Aznaro looked aghast. "You really have kept yourself ignorant, haven't you?" He shook his head, then looked up, energized, "it's fortunate we have several days together on the road. You have much to learn."

 _I don't even know why you sought me in the first place._ Tahir pursed his lips. _Are you going to tell me_ that _, soon?_

"Three years ago . . .  no, I can't even start there. The story really begins many years ago with the Golden General."

"Of course I know about the Golden General," Tahir protested, but Aznaro held up his hand.

"The story starts there. With the Lion of Roknar, the Golden General, who successfully unified the five princedoms under Roknari leadership and appeared invincible, and who was loved by the Father of Winter Himself. Have you ever wondered why the God so deeply cared for the Golden General?"

Tahir was silent.

"One story — some of which is backed up by a form of evidence — is that the Father even gave the Golden General a drop of his blood. And more. Despite the holy protections, however, the Lion of Roknar was as vulnerable as, say, you, Learned. For a powerful sorcerer from the Archipelago was discovered and slated for burning. Every precaution was taken to direct the demon on a suitable trip to hell, but it somehow jumped the rites and chose the General's three-year-old daughter Joen. You, of all men, understand the Golden General's predicament; except, unlike you, he had a God to help him. In answer to his prayers, the Father of Winter encapsulated the demon, binding it deep inside the little girl. Like you, the General planned — in the future, after he had conquered Chalion — to take his child to a divine of the Bastard in that Quintarian country." Aznaro looked at Tahir's face. "You mean you haven't heard this story?"

Tahir was gaping. "No one told me. This must have been decades ago."

"Fifty years now."

"Fifty years!" Tahir shook with fury that rocked him so completely he was barely coherent. "All the children! All the women — and men — and families who have suffered!" Memories of the bereft he'd seen ran through his mind, punctuated by the images and smells of the melting flesh of their loved ones.

He spat. "No, Aznaro, I only knew of him as a great military leader who was murdered by Roya Fonsa of Chalion through death magic."

"Um, yes," Aznaro was thoroughly taken aback — by Tahir's vehemence or his ignorance? "Yes, others had tried death magic before Fonsa, but none were close in standing to the Golden General; it was not an equal sacrifice. And, although Roya Fonsa succeeded in the rite which killed the Golden General, as well as Fonsa himself and several of his companions, the sacrifice was not equal. A curse was laid upon Fonsa's house."

Tahir forced himself to attend to Aznaro's story, swallowing his rage at the Golden General, a man he'd believed the hero of the Roknari; now, he realized, a god-touched leader who cast away the opportunity to bring the Roknari to an understanding of the demon-ridden. A coward, the Golden General, not a hero.

"Briefly, Fonsa's house was unable to win wars, unable to control corruption, even unable to beget viable heirs — until three years ago when a miracle lifted the curse."

Tahir signed the Quadrene, having never witnessed a miracle. Holy Family, he'd never met a saint, even a petty saint, as far as he could tell.

"That miracle removed the remnants of the Father's gifts to the Golden General, including the encapsulation of the demon inside Joen."

Tahir's eyes focused sharply. "That explains much."

"You noticed, then," Aznaro commented, pleased that Tahir was not completely oblivious. "The recent increase in demons?" Tahir nodded grimly.

 "Did you notice anything about Princess Joen? No, you wouldn't have, you'd been exiled. I wonder if Joen's demon had anything to do with that. You must be one of the few Roknari experienced in demons." Tahir made no comment. Aznaro shrugged and continued, "Anyway, Joen rode her demon well. She used it to bring demons from hell to raise in a series of human hosts, training each for a specific vehicle. She bound each demon to hers."

Tahir reined in his horse, dismounted, and stumbled to a tree where he was violently sick. Aznaro signalled their entourage to stop while the tall divine reeled with the idea of deliberately ripping a demon out of a series of souls. The violations of free will. The empty husks cast aside. Abominations.

Aznaro waited until Tahir had remounted and the troop had ridden several miles before concluding his story. "A few months ago, Princess Joen and her son Prince Sordso, himself ensorcelled by his mother, armed with eighteen sorcerers, attacked a castle in Chalion. With the Gods' favor, the Chalionese worked a miracle. The magic strings which bound the demons to Joen were destroyed, and the demons were returned to hell. As you know, Joen was murdered.  Sordso survives."

Tahir gazed far away, "And my country is forfeit."

Aznaro answered, "Yes." 

 

#######################################################################

 

They stopped for a change of horses at a small town just shy of the Borasnen border fairly late in the day. Aznaro might have considered spending the night there, but the innkeeper's eyes kept shifting left to a line of trees towards the mountain ridge which overhung the town. Instead, they collected some foodstuffs and kept riding. Aznaro did not chat with Tahir; instead, he wandered amiably from guard to guard. Tahir supposed Aznaro was discovering the strengths and weaknesses of each one, while preparing all for surprises.

 Evening found them between towns, so they camped out of sight of the road, in a niche in the mountain protected from the wind. Aznaro stayed with Tahir, the guards providing service as well as protection. Tahir remembered his pleasure in coaching acolytes and dedicats in the Temple as they aspired to become divines of the Father. He appreciated Aznaro's ability to drop a word here, a glance there, which successfully directed the young guards in their duties.

"Are you a teacher?" he asked Aznaro casually when they were served meat and bread for dinner.

Aznaro paused as if caught off guard. "Yes, I suppose you could call me that."

"What _should_ I call you?" Tahir asked, suspicious of Aznaro, but not sure why.

"Ah," Aznaro seemed distant, enervated, far from his cheerful humor of the morning. "I suppose I play the role I'm assigned at any given time."

Tahir considered Aznaro as he chewed his meat and bread. The divine had known Tahir's innermost secrets in their discussion the night before. Today he had revealed a knowledge of the Gods' actions among the highest personages of several countries. From Castillar dy Haro's behavior, Tahir was sure Aznaro acted outside the military chain of command.

"What plan do you have for me?" he asked aloud.

Aznaro chewed his bread. This time Tahir did not wish to linger, awaiting Aznaro's response.

"Why did you drag me off the island in order to show me my life has been a waste?"

Aznaro looked at him. "You had already conceded that your life is a fraud. Why worry that it has also been a waste?" He waved his hand dismissively as Tahir drew himself coldly straight. "I am out of line to have made such a statement. Forgive me, please. You . . .  I — You are not what I expected. I am . . . realigning my thoughts."

His expression turned intent.

"I told you at the outset that we face an extremely difficult time. Roya Bergon and Royina Iselle of Chalion-Ibra are deeply devout. Much as they would deny it — don't even realize now — they will eventually tie military success to theology, requiring — at some point, if not immediately — that Quadrenes see the truth of Quintarianism." Again he raised his hand to fend off Tahir's objection. "I am merely stating their views; they are the victors."

Aznaro ran his fingers through his white hair. "Five Gods, I fear religious fanaticism." Tahir noted that Aznaro was not aware of the irony of his statement. Aznaro must have realized, though, because his lips curled in a sardonic smile. "Umm, well.

"Tahir, you've seen enough suffering brought on by the Temple. Imagine the Quadrenes and Quintarians persecuting each other without even borders to separate them. Chances are the conflict will never resolve, yet will encourage several bands here — a leader there — to effect chaos on the one hand or tyranny on the other. The Holy Family defiled . . . ."

  _Vultures pecking at the dead on the battlefield, in the Temple, on the streets. Tears of the Gods. We have been preparing for this time, skirmishing between ourselves, tantalizing our soldiers with hate, celebrating when other kingdoms weaken — the strategy of our opportunities. Building on destruction._ Tahir realized that Aznaro was no longer speaking. 

"So we either capitulate wholly to the Quintarians because of their military might or shatter into the chaos of secret Quadrene factions? Or both?" Tahir asked bitterly. "And eventually no one knows if he hates because he's Roknari or because he's Quadrene or because he has nothing left but his hatred."

"You understand," Aznaro nodded. "Not many comprehend how different that permanent hatred is from the situation we've lived in for centuries."

Tahir tasted vile sourness in his mouth. He spat.

"Aznaro, you still haven't told me why I'm here."

Aznaro gazed ahead. "I no longer know." At Tahir's sharp intake of breath, he continued, "Aunis and I were sure you had acquired a saint of the Bastard who could safely separate demons from their mounts. Or that you had some other solution."

_You had no idea I was such a fraud. As well as a waste. That explains your earlier remark._

"What happens now?"

Aznaro looked at Tahir sideways. "I admit, I have no idea. Even though you are not the man I anticipated, you have potential use, if merely through your reputation."

 

###########################################################################

 

They broke camp early the next morning. The rock strewn road headed north towards the sea, narrowing and climbing up along the edge of barren cliffs. Around one and they came in full view of the sea — greenblue waters with dots of islands far in the distance. Aznaro and the soldiers were alert, and Tahir felt exposed as they fell into a line. He tried to imagine a way out if they were attacked, but nothing came to mind.

The attack came from behind. First, pounding hooves, yells and whoops, followed by riders whipping down on the entourage. Tahir's horse bucked in terror, and Tahir concentrated solely on staying in his saddle. Aznaro and three soldiers ahead of him were blocked from defending the three soldiers in the rear by Tahir's frantic mount. Screams of terror and the sounds of a man falling down the cliffside. And the bandits were in charge. There were only three of them, heads and faces wrapped in the traditional _tela_ of the rural peoples. One rode past the two soldiers left behind Tahir and grabbed Tahir's horse's noseband, pulled the beast's head down, and said something in its ear. The horse calmed.

Tahir was breathless and feeling like an idiot. So much so that he roared at the bandits, beginning with vile Roknari, in which he cursed them, their families, and their livelihoods, then lowering his tone to a frigid sneer in which he brought down the curses of the Gods upon them.

The bandit who had calmed Tahir's horse slipped off his own, fell to his knees, and called out in prayer and fear. His companions quickly joined him. Tahir glanced uncertainly at Aznaro who looked absolutely disgusted. "Well, tell them to go away, Tahir."

Aznaro made no attempt to talk with Tahir for the rest of the day or that evening, when they camped in a small open space tucked on the south western side of a mountain pass. A stream provided fresh water at least. They had crossed the border from Jokona into Borasnen.

Tahir had no wish to converse; he felt responsible for the soldier's death and he felt wholly incapable of protecting himself or avoiding damage to others. He hadn't ridden in years; he hadn't practiced with sword since he had been a teenager going through every Roknari boy's military training. He believed part of his value as a divine was that he had never killed a man. Tahir was accustomed to performing Temple duties and studying his books. As he chewed on a chunk of bread this evening, in a desolate, dangerous place, Tahir sought a subject for contemplation and found none.

He dreamed again of the black vulture answering the command to leave but unable to perceive its destination. Tahir awoke and lay thinking. When the message was delivered to the island, calling him to relinquish himself to the Quintarians immediately, he had hoped for an answer, if not deliverance. Even if the Quintarians killed him, he would know why. It would be pleasing to die informed. And, initially, Aznaro's knowledge had encouraged him, had made him almost hope the Quintarians held wisdom that the Gods had denied the Quadrenes. Yet Aznaro hadn't comprehended Tahir at all. Had Tahir merely debased himself by turning himself in? Who was calling him in his dreams?

 

###########################################################################

 

The third day out, the second (and last) day on the precipitous mountain trail, was fortunately uneventful. Tahir suggested that he ride last, but Aznaro cut him off abruptly, without explanation.

Tahir spent the hours trying to imagine a world in which everyone was Quintarian. The difficulty lay in the sheer attraction of such a belief, molded from an image of order. In sharp contrast, Roknari — by temperament, further encouraged by society —  preferred violent endings. Their separate interpretations of the Bastard elucidated their irreconcilable differences.

Of course, all humans believed the creation myth of the world and the Four Gods. Both Quadrenes and Quintarians knew the world began in flame that, cooling and turning into matter, retained a fiery core. From that core came the World-Soul which divided into the first Gods, the Father and Mother, who dwelt not in matter but in spirit. In Their great love They produced the Daughter and the Son, and They shared Their love with the world of matter. The Gods embodied beauty, harmony, and stewardship. The matter of the world, in receipt of the gift of love, created living things including humans, whose souls returned to the Gods at death, the gift in return for that first gift.

And both Quadrenes and Quintarians believed that chaos by necessity came forth as demons from the flaming core of the world. For a period in the mythic past, the demons caused complete disarray of the seasons, the natural world, the souls of men.

But a powerful demon-sorcerer unknowingly drank half the soul of a saint of the Mother — the saint shared his soul willingly — and then the sorcerer  — having gained a soul —  knew free will and the possibility of sin that came with it. His soul became tortured with self-knowledge. He let the saint educate him. Ultimately, the demon-sorcerer became greater — became the sorcerer-paladin who championed the Gods _against_ the demons. And although the demons together in the last battle slew the sorcerer-paladin, the demons themselves were swept out of the world.

Then, depending on which story a Quintarian followed, the Mother gathered the pieces of his remains together with her blood to create the Bastard, the God of order who controls demons. The other Quintarian story was that the Mother and the sorcerer-paladin were lovers who conceived the Bastard.

The Quadrene version was that the sorcerer-paladin raped the Mother; the Bastard was no god, but the greatest demon.

In the fifteen years since Sanna had died, Tahir had considered himself a heretic, not a Quintarian. He had rejected the Quadrene belief that outcasts — from the demon-possessed to the orphan — were evil. Yet he hadn't considered the Quintarian interpretation that such vulnerable persons were special and under the protection of a God. 

Quintarianism seemed too easy, like the softness every Roknari perceived in those who followed five Gods. But Sanna would have survived in this inclusive womb.

 

############################################################################

 

Early on the fourth day road dropped to the level plain along the sea and, for Learned Aznaro and the Chalionese-Ibran soldiers, safety. They were met early on by scouts wearing the leopard tabbard of Chalion who clearly had the area under surveillance. Fairly regular posts followed, then miles of war materials, camps, temporary storehouses, and rudimentary shipyards. The numbers of people amazed Tahir; it seemed a miniature country had been thrown up. Aznaro exchanged their horses for fresh ones, then bought a meal and provisions. Occasionally, they passed signs of war: burned farmhouses, trampled fields. Although the taverns and provision buildings had chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, and cows in pens and fenced pastures, Tahir did not see any Borasnens, so assumed they'd been cleared from the area.

Late in the day they entered the western outskirts of Visping. As far as Tahir could tell, little of the gleaming city had been damaged; it must have fallen quickly. The four-sided Temple stood out against the sky with its decorations in vivid blues, reds, gold, and black, as did the imposing fortress. Tahir imagined that the Temple square would soon house a new addition: the Bastard's tower.

Visping, in fact, was thriving. Borasnens, Ibrans, Chalionese, Darthacans, Tahir even saw some traders from far north. He wondered whether the quick wealth that could be had from warfare temporarily overcame religious differences.

At the Temple complex, Aznaro released his soldiers, murmurred "Come along" to Tahir, and led him up several flights of outer stairs, then into a building brimming with Roknari interlacing decorations: carved support columns stretching from finely tiled floors up to latticed ceilings, all shining with jewelled colors. Down a hall, a turn, then into a chamber as stunning as the rest, filled with chests from which papers and books overflowed. There, a divine stood very still, staring out the window opening into a formal garden below.

"Learned Aunis," Aznaro stepped forward. The divine turned, a dark silhouette against the bright light. Tahir blinked, realizing that Learned Aunis was a woman. A Roknari woman he thought, looking at her golden hair, braided and pulled tightly away from her golden skin. Twisted within the carmine shoulder braid of the divine of the Father of Winter was a gold one, showing brightly against her black and gray robe that she was a senior scholar of jurisprudence.

"You're Roknari?" Tahir blurted in confusion. Both Aznaro and Learned Aunis startled, and Aunis laughed, a rich sound.

Learned Aznaro explained, "Aunis, let me introduce you to Learned Tahir."

Learned Aunis nodded gently, "Thank you for traveling to Visping, Learned Tahir." She was tall, with an almost military bearing. Her aquiline nose and pointed chin contrasted to her golden eyes. Lines across her forehead suggested concentration or worry.

Tahir nodded back, shifting his gaze to Aznaro. When was Aznaro going to explain that Tahir brought nothing helpful?

Learned Aunis seemed slightly taken aback by Tahir's silence, but answered his earlier question. "I am Chalionese on my father's side and Jokonan on my mother's. So," she marked his dark coloring, "we both look other than who we are."

Tahir swallowed, reminded again of his fraud. Then he realized that he'd failed to acknowledge her remark, so nodded. Aznaro was already speaking.

"Tahir is not garrulous; in fact, he will have to make more noise even to rate as taciturn." Aznaro changed the subject. "Tahir and I need to clean up. Then I would like to meet. Why don't we take dinner together?"

Learned Aunis nodded, her glance including Tahir. He gave a small, stiff bow and followed Aznaro out.

Aznaro chuckled. "Tahir, you're the first — man or woman — to comment on Aunis's coloring before noting that she's a woman."

Tahir frowned. "I've heard that Chalionese women are allowed great license."

Aznaro almost looked kindly on Tahir. "After you've had a chance to mix with more Quintarians, Learned, you'll have to tell me whether all of us are so different after all, for good or nil."

Aznaro found a room for Tahir; a basin of water and soap were sent up. Miraculously, a servant also delivered clean clothes and took Tahir's filthy ones away. After washing and shaving, Tahir carefully rebraided his hair and pinned his divine's braid on the clean robe. He felt wonderfully refreshed. A tap on the door was Aznaro, looking much cleaner although exhausted and limping from the ride. Aznaro led Tahir through a maze of hallways and staircases, past views of gardens and pools, everything covered in intricate patterns. Finally, Aznaro opened a door Tahir had taken for a design on a wall, and they passed through.

This chamber contained a table and four chairs. Learned Aunis was already seated, as was an old woman whose white, fragile skin appeared especially delicate against her dark green robe, apparently a widow and dedicat of the Mother of Summer. Aunis introduced Dedicat Maite, remarking, "I am fortunate to have a companion who joins me at meals such as this and never reveals the Temple business that is discussed."

Tahir nodded to each, surmising that such was propriety for female Quintarian divines, while Learned Aznaro and Learned Aunis chatted amicably about the weather, the roads, and such neutral topics, during which a fine meal was served and enjoyed. Dedicat Maite said little, and Tahir nothing. Not until the empty dishes had been removed did Aznaro refer to his trip to Jokona to collect Tahir.

"Aunis," Aznaro started, then clenched his lips together. "We made the wrong assumptions from the information you discovered about Learned Tahir."

Learned Aunis looked surprised and confused, turning to Tahir, "You're not the divine referred to in the documents?"

Tahir forced himself to speak, finding it difficult to phrase his statement. "Learned, I am that divine, but I harbor no saint, nor do I know how to reliably force a demon from his ride." He opened his palms to her, feeling abysmally empty-handed.

"But, Learned Tahir," Aunis responded, "even today a report came from your island indicating your popularity among the people there. They respect you and believe in your efforts to help them."

"They see my efforts," Tahir conceded, "but we — none of us expects miracles. I believe the families I serve care about receiving a fair hearing and a divine's understanding." He glanced at the dedicat, "I think of it as a disease I cannot cure, as a burden I can share."

Aznaro grunted, "You're sounding almost beneficent tonight, Tahir. Too bad you continue to rip souls and release demons to ride others."

Tahir blinked but accepted the divine's scorn. Aunis narrowed her eyes. "Learned Tahir, I work with numbers, not generalities. How many sorcerers have you burned in the past three years?"

"None, but no sorcerers were on my island. Only people possessed by very immature demons — ones which had never ridden a human previously."

"And, how many people possessed with demons came before you?"

"None the first year, three the second year, and and seven this past year. Ten all told."

"And how many demons were removed without harm to the soul being ridden?"

"Six demons were successfully removed; no harm came to the soul being ridden, and each demon transferred to a dying person, usually a divine, so sent to hell. Two were taken away by their families — I hope they escaped to lands where they could find succor." He shook his head, "two were not so fortunate; one died, and the family of the other cares for her now. Yet their demons were successfully sent to hell."

Learned Aunis's eyebrows flew up. "Eight out of ten is not a bad outcome."

Tahir explained, "Our successes were due to the blessing of the Father of Winter and luck. I cannot write a formula for a ritual that will provide the same result every time." All of a sudden, Tahir did not want Aunis to misunderstand and give him undue credit. He added, "I couldn't even ride a horse properly, so a man's life was lost on our journey here."

Aznaro shook his head. "It's true that you made a muck of our chance to stop the bandits. But your tirade against them after they'd overpowered us was remarkable." He turned to the women, "Armed bandits knelt before Tahir, begging him to remove his curses. They'd turned into puppies who needed only a spank to send them on their way." Aznaro ran his fingers through his hair. "Tahir, I expected either a sword or an open vessel when I sought you." _You are neither_ was understood.

Aunis opened her golden eyes at Aznaro, "Learned Aznaro, you removed a man who was performing difficult work for the Father of Winter from his post, and you now deride him because he confounds you?" She glanced at Tahir then back at Aznaro. "I suggest you open yourself to possibilities rather than inflexibly demand that your expectations be satisfied." 

Tahir was surprised that Aznaro took the woman's criticism without embarrassment. Instead, Aznaro tapped the table with his index fingers, emphasizing his words. "There isn't time. As the invasion comes to a close with Borasnen and Jokona parleying a truce with Chalion-Ibra, we need to reconcile the religious differences. I thought — Learned Aunis and I hoped — that you, Tahir, could be the linch pin." Aznaro looked at Tahir, "You could have convinced many to become Quintarians if you were a saint of the Father of Winter cleansing the demon-possessed."

Tahir's face remained blank as he raged within. _So I was to be a tool of you Quintarians? Doesn't that make the Father Himself your tool by extension?_

Aunis pursed her lips, and Tahir realized that both women seemed to be looking deep within him. He shut himself off to everything, becoming rigid.

Aznaro tapped the table some more, abstractedly.

Dedicat Maite broke the silence, splaying open her fingers so that Aznaro stopped his tapping. "With all due respect, Learned Aznaro, one does not command the Gods. If we must watch the suffering of humans as they battle over their opposing convictions, we must watch and give comfort as we can. You cannot coerce the Gods into performing miracles."

The Dedicat's anger ended the conversation.

 

  _The black vulture wheeled above the broad battlefield in slowly descending gyres. The dead, separate, in heaps, as they were when they fell, motionless in a silent landscape that spread wider as the vulture approached the earth. No living animals, no living plants, no sense of season or time. A multitude of different, but faded, tabards and banners._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

Tahir awoke early. Dawn had yet to break, but distant sounds indicated daily life had already begun: the squeak of wheels, the calls of servants, the bubbling of running water, the din of birds: roosters crowing, hens cackling, jays and crows, all wrangling. Tahir's head ached.

Tahir would have liked a ball of string to unwind as he sought his way out of the building; without it, he felt sure he would not find his way back. He did not need to ask directions to the Temple; its four wings, branching from the central fire, occupied a large square. Its adornments were more intricate and beautiful than any place Tahir had ever seen: inlaid lapis lazuli, bright enameled tiles, interlacing patterns of stone in relief, the myriad shapes and movements of the world, all carefully kept in order and at proper levels and exuding calm. Tahir strode into the Father of Winter's hall and lowered himself onto a thick, richly woven carpet, and prayed.

 _Father of Winter, God of Justice, my God. On my worst days, I have felt You at Your coldest and harshest. On my best, I have seen Your work in moments of clear truth. I do not trust my way._ He halted his words, afraid to ask for help. _Afraid that You are done with me._ The great, yawning dome above became too huge, himself too small. Tahir ached for his island escape. He remained prostrate, trying to lull his frantic thoughts and quiet his headache.

Finally, pretending that he had succeeded, Tahir rose. He saw a movement to his right where another worshiper had risen, and recognized Learned Aunis, the only woman in the Father's hall. Tahir carefully stepped back to the entrance; she saw him then, and approached. They fell into step without speaking, heading back up the outer stairs.

After a bit, Learned Aunis leaned her head back and shook it, as if shooing off cares. "I feel most humble in there," she remarked.

Tahir nodded, then asked, "Is it strange to pray in a Quadrene Temple?"

"I thought it would be, particularly in such a magnificent one. But prayer soothes me here, as it does in my Temple at home."

Tahir asked carefully, "Are you, or is Dedicat Maite, a saint?"

"The Dedicat is — how did you know?"

"The two of you looked right through me. To my soul, it seemed."

"I met a saint once," Aunis sighed with a sadness that touched Tahir. "Maite is a petty saint." She half-smiled, "one need not be especially god-touched to sense _your_ soul."

"Really?" Tahir had never imagined his soul. Contemplating the idea, he thought he would harbor a small one, not normal but not special.

"Yours shines painfully, Maite says."

"Really?" Tahir barely heard his silly response, he felt so enormously pleased.

Learned Aunis's chuckle startled him into looking at her. "I wasn't praising you, you know. 'Painfully' means you hurt."

"But, well, it's _something_ ," Tahir responded earnestly.

Learned Aunis gazed up at him, narrowing her eyes. "You don't give yourself much credit, Learned." Tahir was silent, cowed by her remark and uncomfortably aware that he had allowed her to judge him.

They did not speak again, except when Aunis pointed him towards the refectory. They parted; women and men did not eat together in public, it seemed.

Fortunately, Tahir had barely sat before Learned Aznaro tapped him on the shoulder. "I waved and called to you, Tahir. Eat quickly."

After breakfast they found Learned Aunis in the chamber where they'd first met, kneeling before a trunk and sorting the papers within. Learned Aznaro had an edginess today, almost petulantly calling Aunis away from her task to discuss his concerns. The piles of papers and books fascinated Tahir. In order to sit, he carefully moved three sorted piles of paper onto the floor in the corner of the room. Even so, instead of a chair his only option was a trunk. Aznaro cleared off the one chair, hastily, while Aunis chose to stay on the floor.

Aznaro scrubbed his forehead with his palm. "Learned Aunis, what should we do?" Aznaro ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "We don't have time!"

Learned Aunis tilted her head at him, "Learned Aznaro, why don't you talk with the Borasnen Archdivine again? Certainly, the situation has clarified since your first meeting; indeed, by now the terms of defeat are being negotiated. He might be more willing to listen to you."

Aznaro scowled at her, then sighed and straightened himself. "All right." He glared at Tahir. "I've wasted the past two weeks, what are two hours more?" He seemed to await some answer from the other two, but received none. Hmmphing, Learned Aznaro left the room.

Tahir looked around at the piles of papers. "May I help?"

The first expression that crossed Aunis's face was almost defeat, surprising Tahir; then, her eyes narrowed in a familiar intenseness, and she looked around the room. "Yes . . . ," she pointed out several piles. "See what you can make of them."

Tahrir sat on the floor stretching out his long legs, and began reading — a treat, he'd expected to be assigned a sorting task. The records immediately drew him in.

These were records of trials for outcasts of all sorts, not just demon possession; they were, however all cases in which the Quintarian Bastard would have been patron of the accused. Orphans, executioners, illegitimate children, sodomists. Repeatedly, the case, however unrelated to the out of season background of the accused, was decided based on that background. The executioner convicted of killing his wife, even though he had a tight alibi — he was hanging someone at the time. The sodomist dragged from a Darthacan ship that was temporarily in port; well, one wouldn't call that a trial, rather an after-the-mutilation checklist. The multiple records where the courts left bastard children virtually enslaved, orphans denied inheritance, and men executed who were merely suspected of harboring demons or impure loves confirmed what Tahir knew, but saddened him deeply.

Reading one particularly casual conviction, Tahir sputtered his frustration. "How can this court consider itself just?"

Aunis asked, "Why did people trust your judgments, Learned Tahir, when you were notorious for running long trials?"

Tahir considered, "I suppose because people think they attend a trial seeking an easy answer: here is a bad man; punish him. They see only a bad man, not the complexities."

"And, a long trial?"

"That initial assumption is wrong; people don't attend trials because they want quick judgments. They attend trials because they want justice. They want truth. And knowledge. They want the right outcome in a world that is otherwise punctuated with mistakes." He looked at Aunis. "The more they hear that the accused is like themselves, the less they want to convict him. As they become familiar with the individuals involved and the situation that provoked whatever happened, they become confused. They need reminders of how judgments work, which pieces are viable for the puzzle that is truth. When the decision is finally made, even if they don't agree with it, they understand how it came about." He slapped the report he was reading, "This court not only denied the accused justice; it effectively announced to the community that justice is dead."

Learned Aunis looked thoughtful, then glanced down at the many new piles of papers around Tahir. "How are you sorting them?"

"Am I?" Tahir's expression suggested that the piles had made themselves. He looked at the top reports in each pile. "I was separating the most egregious, as well as the types of cases," he looked at another, "uh, which princedom the report came from, whether it concerned a child — no, all those landed in the most egregious pile —" his wide, helpless eyes made Aunis laugh. "Learned Aunis, I think I've made a mess."

"Which category is the most important?"

"The most egregious, the one dealing with children, definitely."

"Which category gives us information to move on?"

"What do you mean?"

Learned Aunis sighed, and looked out the window, as she had when Tahir first saw her. "I disagree with Learned Aznaro — it would be unforgivably hubristic to _force_ a convergence of Quadrene and Quintarian faiths. Especially if we were to manipulate a saint — or anyone for that matter — in order to achieve our goals. The idea is despicable." She sighed again. "But don't the Gods want us to attempt to promote balance? Don't They wish for harmony and loving stewardship of the world of matter?" She looked plaintively at Tahir.

"Yes," Tahir concurred, and ran his eyes over his many piles of reports. He then looked up, "So, you decided to recruit me because . . . "

"Because you were something other than you seemed: you carried the reputation for cruelty when your record was of justice with a bent towards lenience. And," she added, "because you were another Golden General."

"What?"

Learned Aunis said, shyly, "Your son. You tried to run away with him to protect him despite the Gods. The same with the Golden General."

"Not the Gods," Tahir corrected emphatically, "the Temple."

"Both you and the Golden General refused to use the opportunity to force the Temple to look at itself, to reevaluate its position. Instead, you showed a lack of faith in the Temple — and, perhaps, the Gods, if you consider yourself a true Quadrene."

Tahir swallowed, realizing that he was having trouble breathing.

Learned Aunis suddenly became remorseful. "I apologize, Learned Tahir. What I said was cruel and missed the point. You had to do your best to take care of your child. I shouldn't have said what I did." She looked embarrassed and guilty.

Tahir gulped, then slowly inhaled and exhaled. Again. Once more.

"Learned Aunis, you are right. I should be a servant to my God before anything else, yet I failed Him, as well as Sanna. And another." Tahir forced himself to breathe steadily. Then answered further, "It was a shock to hear about Princess Joen's demon from Learned Aznaro."

Learned Aunis caught her breath, "You didn't know?"

Tahir shook his head.

Aunis closed her eyes. "Oh, Tahir, I'm very sorry."

Tahir studied the wall, following patterns that danced within a beneficent order. "When Learned Aznaro told me that the Golden General had asked the God's favor to hide his daughter's demon, I hated my God. For a moment. I hated the Golden General." He wrenched his head toward Aunis and sputtered fearfully, "Aznaro didn't lie, did he?"

Aunus shook her head slowly. "No. The Golden General hid the fact that Joen was possessed, and the Father gave the gift of encapsulation."

Tahir tipped his head, resting it against the wall.

Aunis said, "Tahir, there is nothing you could have done to save your son. You did your best."

Tahir said, without moving, "I failed the test."

Aunis heaved herself up to stand over Tahir, hands on her hips, "Then this is another opportunity. You're here — out of your hideaway on the island. It's time to face your faith."

Tahir blinked at her swaying, golden face — and sharp nose, "Where? How?"

"You'll just have to figure it out. Look at your piles again. Jokona? Jarn? Where is the most dangerous place you could go? How can you most put your life on the line for your God?"

She picked up the report from the top of the pile of the most egregrious verdicts: it was a case from Maceda, the main city of Vardo. An eight-year-old orphan, convicted of being possessed by a suspected demon in a trial that had lasted one hour, had been burned at the stake while her uncle inherited the furnished house her father had owned. Aunis shuffled through the pile, finding two more from Vardo. "We will leave for Vardo as soon as possible."

"How do we get there?"

Aunis swung around to find some maps, tucked into one of the old trunks. She selected several in order to cover the distance between Visping and Maceda. "Hmm." She clearly handled numbers efficiently, Tahir realized nervously. "We ride to Zarza. That will take a day. Then we find a boat to take us to Maceda. That will be a two day, three night trip." She looked at Tahir expectantly. "We can leave tomorrow."

Tahir wondered, "What if we're traveling the opposite direction from where the God wants me?"

Aunis fastened her eyes on the view out the window, pursing her lips. "Then either we die helping people, or the God directs us to go somewhere else." Aunis shifted her gaze to Tahir. "It will work, either way."

 

#############################################################################

 

Learned Aznaro surprised Tahir by his lack of enthusiasm for Aunis's plan.Tahir listened to Aznaro shoot down every reason Aunis gave to go.

"Vardo? We're not even at war with Vardo. Why would anyone go to Vardo?"

"Because they've been denying justice to children and other vulnerable people. The Father of Winter's Temple needs to be cleansed."

"Yelling at the archidivine at Maceda won't bring you any closer to convincing Vardoans to accept the Bastard as a God."

"Look at the map, Aznaro. Vardo is the closest princedom to the Archipelago. A movement to accept the Bastard in Vardo could have major ramifications."

"Look at the map, Aunis. Vardo will take you further away from Jokona. Deep into Quadrene territory where _you_ in particular will be in peril. And the Archdivine is no friend of ours. We're focusing on Jokona here."

"Until all the princedoms receive some knowledge of Quintarians, they're going to resist the idea of changing the way they follow the Gods."

"So you two are going to show up, tell everyone how wonderful Quintarians are, and they'll applaud you? They'll burn you first."

"Learned Aznaro, you don't have a plan, but you shoot down the one we offer!"

"Learned Aunis, you don't have a plan, you have a fantasy. You might as well have thrown names of cities up in the air and chosen the one that came down first." Tahir wondered whether that was a good description of what they had done.

At any rate, eventually Learned Aznaro was rubbing his forehead, dragging his fingers through his hair, and looking harried to the point of dismay.

Aunis wasn't through yet. "Aznaro, we took a chance in recruiting Learned Tahir. I think that was the smartest step you've taken." Aznaro stared at Tahir as if he couldn't see any of the benefits that were obvious to Aunis. "We need to let him take his chances. We can't direct him any more than we can direct a God." Tahir felt like a hound, taken off his lead so he could track a scent.

Aznaro bit his lip and nodded, in capitulation rather than support. "All right. What are your plans?"

Aunis told him about dividing up the trip to Maceda between riding, then taking a boat from Zarza.

"And who will act as your lady-in-waiting?"

It was Aunis's turn to bite her lip. "I'll find someone."

"Do you have anything further planned?" Aunis was silent. "All right, Aunis. I'll find funding for this expedition, even though I see no chance that it will prove anything for our cause. You will arrange for the female escort, and I will arrange two outriders in addition to four soldiers of the Daughter of Spring. The outriders are Borasnens — former Quadrenes — so you'll have some protection no matter whose hands you fall into. When you arrive in Maceda, you will visit a divine I know at the Temple. Here, I'll write down his name: Vitames. He will help you." Aznaro ran his fingers through his hair again. "Send me a message through him when you arrive." Aznaro fixed his gaze on Tahir. "I warned you that she is devious. However, she is utterly loyal to the Father. You'll die together."

"You're absurd, Aznaro," Aunis responded, piqued. "We'll complete our task. In the right number of pieces."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Tahir had spent his adult life working in the Temple, which brought him into contact with all sorts of people on a daily basis, but which left him ignorant of other facets of life, especially travel. An entourage of two Temple outriders and four dedicat-soldiers of the Daughter of Spring seemed excessive as they started out. Aunis had acquired a young acolyte of the Mother of Summer whose broad smile suggested that she anticipated an enjoyable adventure. Learned Aznaro gave Tahir letters of introduction to Learned Vitames at the Temple in Maceda, as well as a heavy purse. They started out with company: four merchants, their servants, and mules, and headed towards Zarza. Judur, Aunis' companion, seemed excessively pleased with the expedition, peeking at the many men through her long eyelashes.

One of the merchants sought out Tahir for a chat. His name was Nisar, which he hissed out through the large gap between his front teeth. Nisar was all thick, furry hair. Short and stocky, his hair stuck out from his head in clumps, as it did also from his ears and nostrils; also, his thick moustache and spiky eyebrows curled up. His eyes were black and his nose red. He was very proud of his success in business. "Y'know," he told Tahir confidentially, "I don't own markets or herds. Oh, no. I run the transport that bring produce to markets, cattle from farmers to abattoir, and supplies to the military." He nodded proudly. "That's the difference. You need to pay attention. See what folks are paying to transport."

Tahir asked, "What do you transport most between the mainland and the Archipelago?"

Nisar smiled cunningly, "People. Men travel from the Archipelago to fight. They usually want to end up in Jokona — better training, better pay. But now, it's changing. Jokona — well, my friend — Jokona is going to see some tough times."

Tahir contemplated Nisar's trustworthiness. Nisar wore a curving scimitar in his belt in a beautifully embossed sheath. If he could carry something very valuable so obviously, he must be ready to defend it. Tahir hoped Nisar was his friend and that Nisar valued friendship.

When Tahir rode by Aunis, Judur dropped behind.

"She's frightened of you," Aunis said quietly.

Tahir shook his head, bemused. "She isn't scared of soldiers and armed men."

"Perhaps they don't remind her of a harsh father," Aunis smiled.

Tahir looked at her, curiously. "Are there schools for women divines of the Father in Chalion?"

"Oh, no. I'm the only woman divine of the Father of Winter, as far as I know."

Tahir frowned. "How did that come about?"

Aunis paused before explaining. "My father and grandfather were divines of the Father, and I had no brothers. I think my father was pleased enough that he let me be a surrogate son," she smiled reminiscently. "Both he and I loved numbers and facts. He couldn't keep me out of his library. So he educated me at home, then bullied the Temple into allowing me to study as a scholar."

Tahir wondered, "Don't most fathers seek husbands for their daughters?"

Aunis's smiled faded, her lips folding down into a sour expression. "Daughters can be foolish. I was. I fell madly in love with a soldier — a captain — and harried my father into allowing the marriage."

"It . . .  wasn't happy?" Tahir felt his way very carefully.

"He didn't love me," Aunis whispered so low that Tahir barely caught her words. "He left after three months. He fought in different border campaigns. Apparently found a woman who lived in Ibra, closer to the action. Had children. Anyway, he died four years ago, it was reported."

Tahir did not say anything. He wondered what it would be like to be abandoned. He wondered whether his wife had felt abandoned when he couldn't protect Sanna. Had he said much to her in those last, despairing days?

He glanced at Aunis; her usually intense expression was blank. What could he say?

"I think one of the two boys who was demon-possessed actually made it to Chalion." _What a stupid remark. Can't I think of something comforting to say?_

Aunis looked around at him. "You think so?" She was slowly focusing on his words.

"Yes. I heard a report — I guess that's what led my train of thought from what you — anyway, he sent messages through the Daughter of Spring's dedicat-soldiers." Tahir frowned. "I think he has become a dedicat in the Bastard's Order."

"That's generally what happens to sorcerers."

"But — doesn't the Temple in Chalion exorcise the demons from their human mounts?"

"No, Tahir," Aunis looked at him strangely. "Not unless there's a saint of the Bastard, and I've only heard of one of them."

Tahir was astounded. "So I wouldn't have saved Sanna?"

"Tahir," Aunis said severely. "The Bastard is a God. Your young friend is blessed to serve him." She continued, "Most demon-possessed enter the Bastard's Order. Only saints of the Bastard can part the demon from a living person safely.

"Joen sent sorcerers and three hundred soldiers to murder the Bastard's saint in Rauma early this past summer, as she prepared her invasion of Chalion. Since that grotesque assault on Rauma, I know of one saint of the Bastard—Ista, the Dowager Royina of Chalion—who brought down Joen and a band of sorcerers. Saint Ista is probably with the Chalionese-Ibran forces in Jokona now, freeing the possessed—of Quadrene background as well as Quintarian—and sending their demons to hell."

Tahir digested this.

"Of course," Aunis remarked in disgust, "Many in Chalion ridicule the Bastard's own. People are deeply fearful of sorcerers, of course, even Temple sorcerers. And men who . . . are attracted to other men need to keep their preferences secret."

Tahir blinked. Several times. "But I thought . . . "

Aunis looked at him intently, "You thought because the Bastard exists as patron to outcasts that such people are no longer outcasts? Think again."

Tahir thought. Am I on a fool's errand? Are Chalionese as bigoted towards the victims of others as Roknari are? Does the fifth God make any difference?

Aunis said, "What are you thinking, Tahir?"

Tahir startled. Her full intensity was focused on him.

"Now don't you dare think that the Chalionese are as bad as your Roknari!"  
Tahir scowled, unintentionally. _How dare you read my mind?_

Selecting her words, Aunis explained, "Together, the Five Gods are inclusive. The Daughter of Spring values love and learning and growth; the Mother of Summer cares especially for healing and children; the Son of Autumn is the God of the harvest and fellowship; the Father of Winter oversees justice, children, and an easeful way to death when it comes. — No! don't interrupt, I know you knew all that — The Bastard includes the excluded, anyone who doesn't fit the four. He does so because He is the God of balance. Everything of matter carries weight; a true balance must include all. That's why His Day is celebrated intermittently, when an extra day is needed to equal the length of the year. Including the Bastard allows balance because it acknowledges everyone." She threw up her head like a horse about to let go and charge across the plain.

Tahir thought. _Acknowledgement would open the door to other things. Like learning. Like providing comfort. Her golden eyes shine with inner fire when she is intent_. He shook himself out of his reverie, finding himself blushing. What just happened?

At the end of the day, the group rode up to an inn. There were rooms enough for the travelers (Tahir and Nisar would share), and the soldiers could sleep in the barn. Dinner was served on long benches. Nisar joined Tahir, Aunis, and Judur; Tahir wondered if Aunis was chaperoning the acolyte rather than the other way around.

The next day brought them to Zarza — a town overfull and restless, in turmoil between refugees, soldiers, and anyone seeking profit from war — and the unfortunate news that no boats were available to take them to Maceda. When Nisar overheard Tahir try to find passage, he pulled the divine aside, "No chance of a boat these days. They're all ferrying refugees across to the Archipelago and soldiers back here. I own a couple of those boats." Nisar looked around to see if anyone was listening, "But I can make you a deal. You can ride the rest of the way with me; I know the road, the inns. Holy Family, it will take you four days, I admit, but you'll have a fine ride."

Tahir discussed this with Aunis, who looked askance at Nisar but saw no alternative to accepting his offer. Two of the dedicat-soldiers of the Lady of Summer, Ibran Quintarians, begged leave to head back to Visping with five merchants needing protection. So the next morning, the diminished entourage moved forward. The ride continued along the brown plains of the coast; Tahir preferred this wide open land to the slender mountain trail he'd traveled with Aznaro. Nisar described the trip as if it were the safest imaginable, yet they met few other travelers except for uprooted families trudging slowly, scanning the sea for boat rides to safety.

While the inn that night was no worse than the one at Zarza, everyone felt edgy. Dinner was served again at a trestle, and the Temple outriders and dedicat-soldiers joined Tahir and the others. They were all experienced men who were serving in Visping, and, other than returning Judur's provocative glances with winks, seemed adequate to their task.

As they served bowls around, five men wandered in the front door, and several more appeared in the open gallery above, spreading themselves out. Tahir knew Nisar and the soldiers were aware of the intruders; the guards whose seats were facing away from the room began to rise. Just then a pack of men rushed out from the kitchen, brandishing swords. Yells, and the fight was on.

Tahir jumped up, turning, and pulled Aunis and Judur away from the table, towards a back corner. Then he pulled out his dagger and sought a way to be helpful in the melee. He glimpsed a soldier slice off a man's hand, then saw Nisar, standing on top of a table, screaming as he swept his scimitar across another man's shoulders. The head flew off.

Aunis swept past Tahir, grabbing a heavy bowl and smashing it over the head of an attacker, who collapsed.

Tahir slid to his left, blocking the retreat through the kitchen. A man came hurtling towards him, impaling himself on Tahir's blade. Tahir pulled out the dagger as the man collapsed onto the floor.

Looking up, Tahir realized that the ruckus was over. Several men were moaning, and Judur was crying. The soldiers and dedicat-soldiers were checking the wounded and bodies of the attackers. Aunis was tending to a soldier whose upper arm had been punctured. Nisar came over, nodding approvingly at Aunis, "Good woman you've got there." Then he headed into the kitchen to discover who had arranged the raid.

After a thorough search, the landlord and his helpers were found bound in the cellar. Nisar still wasn't convinced that they were innocent, but his fierce aspect cowed them enough to ensure a safe night for the group. Judur went up to bed, sniffling.  

Aunis and Tahir joined the rest for a mug of ale to make up for the lack of dinner. Tahir could not speak he was so shocked at having committed murder. He'd broken a standard he'd set for himself that separated him from the Roknari blood hunger. He had dedicated his life to teaching and reason and justice. And now his divine's robe boasted a smear of blood across the front from the waist down. He was barely aware of the others, until Nisar suggested in his nasally voice, "Maybe you should stay in the women's room tonight to protect them against another attack."

"First I kill, then you set me up to rape?" Tahir responded, anguished.

Aunis stood up in one motion, white with rage. "There's no chance of that!" she spat, and marched upstairs, slamming her bedroom door. The soldiers were snickering. Nisar slugged Tahir on the back, "Sorry, man."

Tahir rose and walked upstairs. He knocked on Aunis's door, waited, then called. No answer. He turned his back against the door and slid down to sit, putting his head on his knees. _Nisar is right; both women need protection. I should provide that. But now I've angered Aunis, and I don't know why. The Bastard is a God, and Sanna might have lived a dedicat. But now I've killed a man._ He dreamed.

_The black vulture soared above high mountain ranges, down deep cuts of rivers, across plains. Another vulture joined it. Together, they flew towards light._

_But Aunis is a golden eagle,_ Tahir objected, as he fell backwards, hitting his head hard on the doorsill.

A pair of golden eyes beyond a sharp nose stared down at him. "Tahir, your snoring is keeping me awake. Go to your room."

Tahir stumbled to his room. A large head of black fuzz lying on one side of the bed let out a belch; from the blanket-covered body came a fart. Tahir lay on top of his side, and slept.

 

############################################################################

 

The next morning Nisar quickly organized everyone to leave early. The transportation businessman had recalculated the safety of the trip and was determined to push on for Maceda in two more days instead of three. Nisar was not a nervous man, but he was no fool; the less time on the road, the safer.

Again, along the road they passed refugees from inland. Nisar's group kept fairly close together; occasionally, Nisar sent a dedicat-soldier ahead to scan for danger.

Tahir saw that Judur was staying close to Aunis. He supposed Aunis would have nothing to do with him anyway, so he rode alone. Nisar joined him at one point, and they rode in front.

"I don't know," Nisar squinted up the plain to the line of mountains. "I traveled this road two weeks ago, and it was okay."

"I thought everything was fine in Vardo."

"Well, y'know, that bit with the Princess in Jokona? In a way, her — not her death, but, Holy Family, the things she did! Demons, tying up her own kids with sorcery. That's sick." Nisar, seemingly experienced in all aspects of life, was confounded by Joen. Who could blame him? "So, all five princedoms are in an uproar. And Chalion-Ibra wiping its nose on Jokona and Borasnen. For all I know, Brajar has attacked from the west. Or the Vardoan Archdivine has gone crazy; he's from Ibra, y'know. There's no telling these days." He shook his head mournfully.

Tahir asked, "Don't you make more money when everyone is moving?"

Nisar shook his thick head of hair morosely. "Opposite. Low returns. Everything is in chaos. I can't tell how many boats I need, where I need to have horses for hire. And, by the Gods, I sure don't know when the innkeeper's gonna be tied up." He spat. "Business isn't good when paying folks get attacked."

Just then Aunis and Judur rode up. Aunis explained that Judur wanted to know about Nisar's work around Visping; Tahir wondered whether Judur wanted to return. Aunis pulled ahead with him.

Tahir desperately sought a topic of conversation. "Nisar was just telling me that Joen's heretical actions have put the five princedoms in turmoil."

Luckily, this provoked Aunis's attention. "Quadrenes are split?"

Tahir tried to rephrase the merchant's remarks faithfully, "Nisar is concerned because the level of chaos is making his business too unreliable for making money."

Aunis frowned. "Hmm."

Tahir added, "He's appalled by Joen's action even though he knows . . . all sorts of perfidy." His horse began splashing across the delta of a small river emptying into the sea.

Aunis rewarded him with her deeply thoughtful expression. "I wonder if — Tahir, how do you feel about being a Quadrene after hearing about Joen? I mean, apart from everything else." She reflexively pulled up her skirts as her horse entered the shallows.

Tahir jogged along, examining the idea. "It's disgusting. I don't feel shaken as a believer. But I . . .  feel skeptical of Prince Sordso and any of Joen's advisors who survived. How could they not have seen that something wrong was happening? Where was the Archdivine? By the way, Nisar says the Archdivine in Vardo is from Ibra."

Aunis urged on her horse in her excitement."Tahir, this means that our opportunity really is coming! This must be the chance to reconcile Quadrenes to the Bastard before we suffer a religious persecution!"

Tahir was completely confused. "Do you mean we need to return to Visping?"

At that moment a quarrel shot above their heads. The horses reared, and, as Tahir quickly gained control of his, he realized they'd ridden ahead of the rest of the party which was back on the far side of the river delta. Men, some in _telas_ but most merely wearing bandannas, surrounded Tahir and Aunis, grabbing their reins and charging away along the sand. Tahir clung to his horse's mane. Soon they were spashing in surf towards a large rowboat, two-thirds the size of the one Tahir had taken to return from the island. Both prisoners were chucked aboard, and with a whoop the riders returned toward the beach. Tahir and Aunis huddled together on the deck. The boat was moving quickly towards the west.

Tahir tried to deduce who was in charge, but he didn't want to invite trouble, or, more specifically, manacles or ropes. He muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Are you all right?" Aunis gave an affirmative grunt. They both stayed still. Temple divines were seldom abducted, and they were almost never killed — as long as they weren't of the Bastard's Order. These pirates probably meant to ransom them, Tahir thought, most likely from Maceda. Unless they were going to be sent to the islands. Tahir worried about Aunis. Perhaps a woman divine of the Father was accepted in Chalion-Ibra; frighteningly, in the Roknari lands her situation — without a chaperone and a male family member — made her an easy target for rape and worse.

One man directed the oarsmen, and two men simply lounged. Six rowed. Tahir and Aunis watched. The day lengthened and ended. Oars were pulled in while chunks of something like biscuit was handed around, along with water. Tahir was surprised that two oarsman at a time rowed through the night.

Aunis's head settled against Tahir's shoulder. "Aunis?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you come with me on this . . . errand?"

No answer.

"Learned Aznaro said you were devious. That was back when I thought you were a man." Tahir tried to remember how many days ago he had met Aznaro, but everything ran together. "Then you were so eager to leave Visping you made jokes about dying." _At least I thought they were jokes._

Aunis did not respond for long time. Finally, "Do you ever have dreams that must mean something?"

"Yes."

_"You do?"_

"Yes."

"Recently? About this trip?"

"Yes."

"Tahir! What are your dreams?"

"In my dreams I'm a black vulture. Sometimes I fly high in the sky. Once I landed on a field filled with the slain. Once another vulture joined me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Tahir thought through the proper answer to this. "Aunis, do you have dreams, too?"

"Yes. Though they're different from yours. They started when I went to Visping to examine the old documents. I think I've had one almost every night."

"What happens in your dreams?"

"They're not specific like yours. They're full of colors and textures, so much so that I can't make out anything. But I know I must be dead. And it's beautiful."

Tahir was horrified. He was about to speak, but one of the men hissed at him, so he stayed quiet. He slipped his arm around Aunis. He didn't want her to die. He didn't want her to look forward to death. He was more scared by her dream than by their reality.

The night lasted forever and the next day began. After a few more bites and a slug of water, all six rowers plied their oars. Tahir stretched to peek out over the gunnel and saw the shore line not far away.

A whistle, and the two guards came to attention, peering at another boat close to shore. Tahir's captors rowed quickly toward the boat, threw up the line, and tied alongside. The two guards began climbing up when swords appeared from above and both guards, stabbed, fell back into the boat.

In the confusion between the unknown fighters on the ship, the rowers, and the guards, Tahir grabbed Aunis and threw her off the far side of the boat, then jumped overboard himself. He surfaced quickly, at first unable to find her, then seeing enough to pull her head out of the water. Aunis gagged and gasped while Tahir held her with one hand and the rowboat with the other. As far as he could tell, everyone in the rowboat was dead. The line must have been cast off because they were floating away from the ship. He worked his way down the side of the boat so that he and Aunis weren't visible from the ship. As Aunis calmed, Tahir stripped off both his robe and hers, lightening them. She held onto him tightly.

The tide was coming in, slowly moving their boat towards the shore. After what seemed like hours, Tahir was able to touch bottom. He pushed the boat away, held Aunis, and stumbled to the shore.

At first they both just tried to catch their breaths. They were exhausted. Then Tahir became aware of people hesitantly approaching. He stood up, dripping, without his black and gray robe of a divine of the Father for the first time in more than fifteen years. He realized that to these people he was just a man.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

They had dragged up on the beach of Maceda; Tahir stared at the gleaming white city, quickly locating the Temple. It was less than a mile, maybe less than half a mile away. He looked at Aunis, clearly embarrassed by her wet and clinging chemise. She, too, probably felt naked without her robe. They were both barefoot.

"Do you think you can make it?"

Aunis nodded, although Tahir wasn't sure if she had the strength. She sat a while more on the beach before hoisting herself up. Tahir held her arm for balance. As she struggled along, Aunis muttered, "That's the first and last time I'm going swimming."

Tahir was bemused. "How can it be that you never learned to swim?"

She answered through tight lips, "Because I come from inland. We don't have these huge great puddles in Chalion."

Tahir smiled. "Don't try to go so fast. There's plenty of time. We can rest whenever you want."

Aunis wasn't ready to smile yet, but she made her way alongside him.

 

############################################################################

 

At the Temple, Tahir was taken aback when no one seemed sympathetic to their plight. The letters from Learned Aznaro had been lost with their saddlebags. When Tahir insisted that they be taken to Learned Vitames, there was some shuffling about. Eventually, a dedicat put them in a back supply room. Aunis sat tiredly on a upsidedown wooden tub. Tahir leaned against the wall and looked at her. The taught braids had loosened and unraveled so that her golden hair fell in extended curls, each stretching loop reminiscent of a former knot, an old strain, a past ache. The fairly dry chemise had the simplicity a child's dress, though swelled at her breasts and tight around her hips as she sat. He wished he had something to give her that would keep her safe forever.

Aunis raised her head to look at him. Her golden eyes and long nose spoke to a strength that belied her physical vulnerability. "I think we've made it. This must be the right place, Tahir."

The door opened and a divine entered cautiously. He was a muscular man, better a soldier than a Temple man, with handsome high cheekbones and golden braids. For such a powerful physical impression, his expression was oddly querulous. "Who are you? Why have you done this to me?"

Tahir, confused, introduced himself and Aunis and explained about Learned Aznaro's missing letter.

The divine was astounded, "How dare that damned Quintarian — he makes all sorts of assumptions. Doesn't have a clue what's going on around here. I can't believe this!" He started at them accusingly.

Aunis studied him, "What _is_ going on, Learned Vitames?"

"Only the final defense of the true belief, that's what!" Vitames spat. "We've captured a so-called divine of the Quintarian Bastard, and his public trial starts shortly. There have been too many challenges to the righteous, and the archdivine is going to make every step of this execution count." Vitames' eyes narrowed. "Did Aznaro send you to disrupt the trial?"

Tahir answered coldly, "We know of no trial. We are divines in need — especially of clothing and food and some rest. Your calling, apart from any letters from any divine, requires that you help us."

Vitames responded, equally frigidly, "That would require that I take you at your word that you are a divine — and of the true Quadrene belief."

"Ask around about Tahir of Jokona."

"Oh? Are you?" Vitames still looked skeptical, "And what of her?"

"She is a senior scholar of jurisprudence in the service of the Father of Winter. To deny her food is to deny the Father."

Vitames was offended that Tahir would involve the God. "Look, I can get you food. That's it. Yet — I can do you one favor, that's all. And I may suffer for it." He looked back at the closed door, as if wishing Tahir and Aunis didn't exist. "I can sneak you out of here. Give you enough money so you should get back across the border." His eyes slid over Aunis, "Maybe not her. You can try."

"No."

"What do you mean?"

Tahir stood still. "We need food, Learned Vitames. That is the very least you can provide. We also need clothing."

Vitames swallowed in fear. "They'll get me if they see you anywhere in the Temple."

"We swear we won't acknowledge you."

Vitames' look combined alarm, anger, and shame. "I'll do my best." He hurried out of the room.

Tahir sat on the floor beside Aunis. "This is not good."

He felt her hand touch his head. He felt her fingers run through his hair. He closed his eyes.

After awhile the door opened a crack, a wad of cloth was thrown in, and a tray was slid in. The toe end of a boot was all Tahir saw of the deliverer. The door closed. The cloth contained two nondescript mantles that at least covered their chemises, and two pairs of slippers. On the tray were bread and grapes and water. Tahir and Aunis ate, then slept on the floor.

 

_The black vulture soared towards a mountain peak high above the world. It landed and became Tahir. Before him stood a great man with the bearing of a conqueror. Somehow Tahir was reminded of his father, yet this man's eyes were as black and deep as eternity. He faced the Father. "You have found me, Tahir."_

_Tahir nodded, unable to speak._

_"You have much to do. You must broaden my children's minds. You must teach justice."_

_Tahir thought of the Quadrene fear and hatred of difference. "I don't know what to say, Father."_

_"You'll find the words." Is this a promise or a dare?_ _Tahir wondered hopelessly._

 

Tahir awoke, Aunis sleeping soundly under his arm. He shook her gently, and the golden eyes opened to him.

"We need to find the prisoner — the divine of the Bastard — before the trial starts."

"How do we find him?"

"In the dungeon."

"But Temples don't have dungeons!"

"Roknari Temples do."

He stood, and gently pulled her to her feet. He opened the door slightly, made sure no one was in the passage way, and they slipped out.

Like Quintarian Temples, Quadrene Temples comprised whole complexes; a Daughter's school, a Mother's infirmary, and the Father's law courts were necessary for day-to-day operations. Maceda's Temple complex, like Vispings', involved many buildings for religious activities from meetings, to housing and food, to storage and stables. Tahir knew that the law courts would be entered directly across from the Father's Hall in the Temple. The dungeon would lie below those courts.

He quickly led Aunis to the entrance to the law courts, but skirted it to the lefthand side of the building. Halfway down the length of the edifice, he found a peculiar stone ramp dropping and curving into the depths of the building. They followed it to an ancient triangular arch in which there was a wooden door decorated with metalwork. Tahir pounded on the door, alarming Aunis, who stepped behind him.

The door opened, showing a guard, and Tahir immediately began berating the man for his ignorance, lassitude, forgetfulness, and slovenliness. The guard looked as if he was being beaten with bricks.

"Now, take us to the accused, the Quintarian. And find us proper robes — we're divines of the Father." He glanced at Aunis, "She's a divine of the Mother. Fast."

The guard brought them down the single hall of cells, pointing to the last one. The door to the cell had bars in its upper half. He then left at a trot to discover some robes.

Tahir held onto two bars and stared at the divine in astonishment; the divine stared back, gasping, "Learned Tahir!"

"My son," Tahir groaned.

Aunis looked from one to the other, then addressed the young divine. "Did you flee the island?"

The young man nodded, then pulled himself together and forced a smile on his face. "I thank you forever, Learned Tahir, and my family prays for you nightly. You saved me. Remember? My name is Osoro."

Tahir couldn't speak. He saw Sanna and every child who'd faced the stake.

Aunis whispered, "Osoro, how did they catch you?"

Osoro bit his lip. "I ventured too far across the Vardoan border — I thought I was still in Chalion." He straightened himself. "In truth, I wanted to get here. When several Borasnen deserters found me, I suggested that they bring me to Maceda in order to save their skins. It worked."

Tahir shook his head. "Why did you want to come here, Osoro?"

Osoro looked stubborn, "Because the Archdivine here is a sorcerer, and someone had to at least try to stop him. So I decided to try."

Tahir said, "How do you know he's a sorcerer?" at the same time Aunis asked, "Can you see his demon?" Osoro put up a hand to slow them down, but they heard the guard returning. They stepped back from the door to the cell, trying to appear as if they'd been castigating the prisoner.

The guard handed them two robes, but he seemed to be losing the fear of Tahir which had propelled him so far. Tahir merely acknowledged the robes, turned on his heel, and left, with Aunis following after.

Outside again, Tahir continued to stride ahead of Aunis, further away from the Temple Square, until he found a shadowed niche between two buildings where they couldn't be seen. There, they replaced the mantles with the robes. Tahir's was not quite as long as his old one, and Aunis's green robe of the Mother was well worn, but they felt clothed again.

They were just in time because people started walking by, headed towards the Temple Square.

"What are you thinking, Tahir?"

"Osoro needs the opportunity to show people that the Archdivine is ridden by a demon."

"But people can't see demons." Aunis put her hand on Tahir's arm and shook it gently. "Tahir, what are _you_ going to do?"

"I'm going to do what I should have done fifteen years ago. I will challenge the Archdivine for defying the Father's justice and mercy, and I will take the consequences in Osoro's stead."

Aunis's eyes shone with tears. "Oh. I was afraid you were going to say that." She stretched up and kissed him softly on his lips. Tahir shuddered. The touch of her lips was manna, and the taste of her tears, wine. _I've been dead for fifteen years. I'm glad to live again if only briefly._ He gently dragged his lips across her cheek and whispered in her ear, "Live, Aunis."

The street noise picked up quickly. Tahir and Aunis sheltered well back in their hiding place.

They heard the sounds of many feet in motion, as well as yells and cackles. They waited, listening to the ever expanding crowd, then slipped out from their shadow. Once in the path, they were caught up in throngs of people heading for the Temple courtyard. A fire was burning in a central pit; a wooden pole was set up on the far side of the pit with piles of sticks alongside it. Extensive staging of three levels with a gold and blood red cloth canopy overtop had been erected for the members of the Temple. The other three sides of the courtyard were filling with a large audience.

Tahir and Aunis found a spot where they could see everything. Steps rose from the ground to the tiers of seats. In the center of the topmost tier sat the Archdivine with his robe bearing the colors of the four Gods: blue for the Daughter; green for the Mother; brown for the Son; gray for the Father. On either side of him sat divines of the Father in black and gray robes with carmine shoulder braids. The fifth personage wore the badge of general in the Vardoan military.  The middle level had three seats. By the dress and badges Tahir identified generals from Tavaki, Jarn, and the islands of the Archipelago. On the lower level sat the Fiscal who had questioned the defendant, the Notary who reported the defendant's statements prior to trial, and several secretaries to run the proceedings and record the testimony and arguments of the trial itself.

Tahir had adjudicated many trials, but never one with so many officials, particularly secular ones, or one so consciously replete with ceremony and theater. The public aspect appalled him, as it appeared that any consideration of justice had been set aside in favor of mass entertainment and propaganda. Learned Osoro had not yet been brought into public — or the Archdivine's — view.

The ceremony started as a secretary announced the Archdivine. The Archdivine stood, raising his hands, palms forward, until his arms were in front of him, relaxed, at shoulder height. He maintained that pose for a minute, turning left, center, right, and center. He then lowered his arms in unison, simultaneously quieting the crowd.

"Today we share a reaffirmation of the most basic tenet of our Quadrene faith — our difference — our strength — that which sets us above all the flaccid, indulgent depravity of the debauched Quintarians.

"We again assert the truth — that the Demon Bastard represents all that is corrupt and weak, all that reeks with sin and all that seeks to defile us. The Demon Bastard and his followers and his sympathizers must be destroyed — Else we will sicken with the perversion ourselves.

"Our fight against the malevolent forces of Chalion, Ibra, Brajar, and any others who question our might is not merely a battle against the foes of the Roknari — it is the final war of the true faith against the forces of evil. We must destroy them before they destroy us.

"Today we celebrate justice — what you witness today is the truth of the damnation of all followers of the Demon Bastard and all Quintarians. Remember it forever! Remind your children lest they fall into the trap: the trap of weakness in the name of mercy, immorality in the name of generosity, servitude in the name of justice.

"Let Today be etched in your minds forever."

The Archdivine raised his arms again, palms out, and the crowd's reaction became louder and louder. He smiled, turned his palms down, and returned to his seat. Screaming and cheering continued for several minutes.

Then a secretary called the Fiscal to bring forward the accused. The Fiscal marched down to a lower stage to the left, and, from a curtain behind a three-foot square platform, brought out Learned Osoro in a dirty white robe with the flair of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

The crowd roared at the prisoner, identified as a divine of the Bastard by the color white and as an object of ridicule by the filth on his robe.

Osoro, for all the humiliation of his predicament, stood tall. He was almost controlling his fearful quaking. He looked straight ahead. Tahir could imagine the young man swearing to himself that he would not break down.

"Doesn't look so nasty to me," a man near Aunis remarked.

"Oh, you just wait," the woman beside him said, "he'll be after all the little boys if he gets his chance."

The crowd hushed to hear a secretary read out the charge. "This man is formally charged with heresy on three counts: of following the heretical Quintarian religion; of holding the position of divine for the demon Bastard; and, of being possessed by a demon of said Bastard." The crowd roared again.

The secretary announced: "The Notary will report."

The Notary stood without holding any notes. "The accused has acknowledged his guilt on all charges."

The divine of the Bastard blinked as if the Notary had misphrased his confession.

The secretary announced: "Does anyone step forward on behalf of the accused?"

The mass of the crowd stepped back, nervously.

Tahir closed his eyes and blessed the Father, stepped forward, then strode forward to face the reviewing stand. People whispered and muttered like flies.

Tahir said, straining to make his voice loud and forceful, "I speak for the accused."

The secretary looked abashed, and checked with another secretary who was checking with one of the divines of the Father while the other one checked with the Archdivine. Finally, word came down and the first secretary queried, "Who are you?"

"I am Tahir of Jokona, divine of the Father, who has watched too many people burn without defending them. For I am the Voice of the Father of Winter."

Tahir continued, "The Father demands justice. He has watched while His children have starved, cried out, and suffered torments through the hatred and ignorance of those who reject His second son, the Bastard."

The yells of dismay and anger from the crowd would have drowned out Tahir's next words, except that there existed an air of expectancy and curiosity that lowered the din.

Tahir continued, "The Father demands justice. As the faithful steward of the spirit that lives in matter, the Father seeks the great-hearted souls who come to him at death. Those souls must be nurtured in life with understanding and love. The Father demands justice. The world of matter must be ordered: as the seasons turn, as lives begin and end, as the fragile moments of tranquility must be maintained, the world of matter requires balance. We all know sin, we all know the shame of sin. Yet we all know the generosity of the Gods, who take us at our end as simply who we are, mere naked souls. Who cherish us most at our least. We must remain cognizant of the least that we are — our nakedness. It is the only way we will see the path to knowledge, growth, family, and our Gods."

Tahir gestured to the brave, trembling divine. "Here is our remembrance of the essence of inclusion. Those whom we wish to forget — orphans, bastards, misfits — those whom we detest — sodomists, executioners — these are the souls we must never forget or we risk losing our integrity. Here stands the representative of the God of Balance."

Tahir stepped between the pit of fire and the scaffold of divines, generals, and clerks.

"I, the Voice of the Father, stand for the accused. Tear me, burn me, break me in place of the accused. For he is innocent."

The archdivine rose, and gestured to one of the secretaries, speaking angrily. The secretary looked cowed by his superior, as well as afraid and confused. The archdivine, in disgust, brusquely gestured the secretary away, and faced the crowd himself.

"This court finds all followers of the Demon Bastard guilty and the vitriolic attacks on the sanctity of the Temple an obscenity. Let him burn!"

He swung around to the Fiscal, raising his staff: "Take the heretics to the fire!"

The Fiscal grabbed the accused divine by the arm, pulling him roughly down to the ground and towards the fire. Tahir reached out for Osoro's hand, holding it. The two were tied to the pole, then people threw sticks into the fire until — suddenly the flame burst bright, rushing geyserlike into the sky.

Tahir had never known such pain. Then he was without pain or form in an elsewhere, a shining, bright place. And the Father, magnificent in silver and gold, shining Truth, was before him. "Are you prepared for me?" the God asked. Tahir nodded. Then the God was moving through him. And in slow motion Tahir saw the fire etched against the sky, the slack jaws of the crowd — a chuckle from another Deity — and the archdivine's mouth opening as a stream of quivering purple emptied from it to snake across the sky then enter Osoro's mouth, then the archdivine clutching his robe as if his heart hurt, and collapsing. And Tahir saw the purifying blaze die down to nothing. The Father returned through Tahir. "Ah, my follower of few words. What will you say now?" The Father smiled. "Would you stay with me?" Tahir remembered all the times he had wished for death, but had dreaded his Father's wrath. Now he could enter that shining world honestly, deservingly. But. "Not yet," he whispered, remembering other things, earthly, imperfect, yet immensely dear to him. The Father nodded. Tahir closed his eyes to remember the perfect luster.

And he was back in the world of pain, sitting on cold ashes against the unscorched pole, his robe and clothing burned, his skin discolored but intact. Osoro sat beside him, smiling at something beyond sight. Aunis ran over as others backed away in terror or bent closer with curiosity.

"Tahir? Tahir? Talk to me!" she demanded fiercely.

Several matrons took over, one patting Aunis, softly calming her. Others directed skinny children to run and find pallets to carry Osoro and Tahir, then ordered strong men to convey them with care.

"Where will they be safe?" Someone asked.

"The Mother of Summer's infirmary. We'll set up civilian guards if need be."

"We'll keep any of the Archdivine's men away." Several defiant chuckles and curses accompanied that threat.

A child peered at Tahir and asked, "Are you a saint?" Tahir smiled weakly.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

The next time Tahir woke, he was in a clean bed in an infirmary room. He felt very tired, but there was no pain. He tried to turn his head but was too tightly bundled. His attempt to move must have made a slight noise, though, because Aunis's face appeared. He smiled at her golden eyes and sharp nose, but was concerned about the lines across her forehead. He wanted to smooth out her worries.

Then another face appeared behind Aunis, a man with the dark, short hair of the Chalionese-Ibran peoples. "Is he awake?" The man asked Aunis. She turned away from Tahir to let the man come closer. Tahir missed her immediately.

"My name is Learned Elo. I just arrived with some others of the Temples of Cardegoss and Zagosur." Learned Elo looked at Tahir keenly. "I deeply regret missing the conflagration."

"Um," Tahir's mouth tasted dry. "What exactly happened?"

Aunis's voice said, "You and Osoro were in the fire. Then the flame jumped into the sky and reached for the Archdivine. The Archdivine died on the spot. The fire in the pit immediately died, and, bless the Five Gods, both you and Osoro were alive."

"Oh."

Learned Elo smiled. "We had been searching for Learned Osoro when a horde of people rushed to us telling of the miracle at Maceda. I think the word of the miracle is traveling far and wide. But I knew of you, Learned Tahir, already. Learned Osoro has spoken of you daily in the — what is it, almost three years? — since he came to us. His parents and sisters also remember how you saved the family when you allowed them to flee. I am honored to meet you at last."

Tahir frowned. He didn't deserve honor. But he was too tired to argue. The divine sensed his fatigue and left the room quietly.

"Aunis?"

"Yes?"

"Where are you? I can't see you." Aunis's head appeared again. Tahir asked petulantly, "would you put a pillow under my head? I don't like it when I can't see you." She complied, smiling back at him. Some of the lines across her forehead were gone. When he saw she was all right, he relaxed and slept.

Later, Tahir heard upraised voices, especially a nasally one he recognized. Nisar bounced into his room, followed by a shushing dedicat. Tahir smiled, "Welcome, my friend."

"My friend!" Nisar confirmed warmly, pounding Tahir's arm. "I was afraid, myself, that you would curse me for losing you." He waved his arms wide. "I never lose my paying customers. That's the worst thing that can happen in transportation." He pointed a finger at Tahir. "But I discovered who had hired those bastards. Y'know what I did? I made sure that the brigands were tricked into boarding the wrong ship; they were killed on the instant." Nisar touched his chest, proud of having made good on his services.

Tahir didn't have the heart to tell Nisar that the brigands' punishment nearly cost Tahir and Aunis their lives.

"What's happening outside?"

Nisar's eyes widened. "Hey, man, you sure pulled off an incredible show."

"Is there much damage?"

"Only an Archdivine we can very well do without," Nisar clicked his fingers. "Up in smoke! Just like that. The generals high-tailed it back to their princedoms with the news that the Father upholds the Bastard. Those guys know the best side wins."

"What are people saying in the streets?"

"Well, for one thing, they're set for life with the story of the Miracle of the Fire, which means the Gods were present. I think they'll tire each other out with retelling it, then travel throughout the princedoms and the Archipelago, just to let folks know that They Were There When It Happened." Nisar sighed. "Five Gods, I'm damned sorry I didn't get to see it. Man."

Tahir struggled to sit up. "You said 'Four Gods' before."

Nisar waggled a finger at him. "I said 'Holy Family' before. I'm open to everyone, Tahir. I'm in transportation."

Tahir moved restlessly. "I need to get up."

Nisar winked. "You want to see your lovely lady friend. I'll go grab someone to bring you clothes." He opened the door, yelled generally, and wandered out. Soon an acolyte rushed in with a pile of clothing, including a divine's robe and braid.

Tahir, perturbed, found washing difficult and slow. It took him a long time to climb into his full length shirt and stockings and robe. He had to sit for a minute afterwards. The acolyte returned and offered to braid his hair. She combed his long, black hair back from his forehead, making cords of braids from the top of his scalp down, and separate thin tight braids from the sides. She bound the cords together at the nape of his neck.

When Tahir then tried to stand, the acolyte stubbornly refused to help him.

"I'll straighten the bed and you can lie on top," she said. "It's too soon for you to walk around. Tell me who you wish to see and I'll find him."

Tahir looked at her; she had the stubbornness that would make her a good physician one day. "I wish to see Learned Aunis, Learned Elo, Learned Osoro and —"

The acolyte held up a hand, laughing. "I'll search for them. And some food for you."

Aunis must have been close by, for she arrived first, carrying a tray with a bowl of broth. She sat on the bed and offered to feed him spoonfuls of the rich liquid. He accepted one without thinking, but then took the spoon from her. Aunis tilted her head, more golden eagle than ever.

"So, Tahir, we came to the right place and did the right thing." She looked enormously happy and content.

"Nisar came by. He says the people were so moved by the event that they're spreading the word in favor of the fifth God."

Aunis nodded, smiling.

"Aunis, what have we accomplished?" Tahir itched with impatience and uncertainty. "The Father — the miracle," he shrugged with frustration at his inability to describe the beauty he'd witnessed. "But we've impressed only a small number of people compared to the populations of Quadrenes in the princedoms and on the Archipelago."

Aunis answered seriously, "Tahir, don't leap from an excess of humility to an excess of hubris. We are not in the business of miracles; our task is to educate people who do not or cannot believe in the Bastard." She shifted her position on the bed, causing Tahir to lose his train of thought momentarily.

"You and Osoro allowed The Father and the Bastard to use you in combat against a malicious, sorcerous attack on the Gods. The Archdivine challenged Them in his theatrics; the demon in him sought to extend the chaos of war to the extent of impoverishing the bodies and souls of all who live in this region."

"Yes, but —"

"Stop, Tahir. Listen to me. There is no miracle for _our_ task — the conversion of Quadrenes to Quintarians. You _have_ come around to Quintarianism?"

Tahir nodded, then tried to speak.

"No, Tahir. Not yet. Our task is to use education, logic, the examples of our own lives, to show Quadrenes the possibilities that open to them when they accept the Bastard as God."

"But—" Tahir paused, sure that Aunis would interrupt him, but she nodded encouragingly. "Quadrenes — at least, the Roknari — _depend_ on the thumb tucked in. We — they — have a culture which demands denial and requires complete self-control. Roknari children are trained to suffer without flinching. They are encouraged to ridicule any other child who can't keep up. Then, at times that control finally breaks — typically after a battle — and the subsequent horrors Roknari inflict on others are cathartic. For all that pent up frustration that didn't have a place otherwise." He ended, humiliated and despairing. _That is who I was. Is that who I am?_

"Tahir, look at me," he gazed into her deep, intense eyes. "Humans are who they are by each individual's will. Free will is quintessential; no God nor miracle can overcome it. There never was a single action that would free the Quadrenes to accept the fifth God. Each must decide. That's what Aznaro can't comprehend; he, understandably, fears that the Quintarians will deny Quadrenes their choice. See, Tahir? Aznaro is afraid of his own side and responds first by trying to trick people out of their free will. Any side can be wrong-minded. The true mission — our mission — is to give people a choice. Your task and mine is to work with people who never knew they had the choice of accepting the Bastard — who always assumed they were responsible to some other person first — a king, a general, an archdivine — instead of being, first and foremost, in a personal connection with the Gods."

She smiled crookedly, "Tahir, you've been following this path for a long time. The people on your island — Learned Osoro and his family — have known you as a man who constantly wrestles with his own soul and who demands that others know their own souls."

She leaned close him and ran her finger over his lips, "People change, you know."

Tahir swallowed. He grabbed the dangerously tipping tray, then Aunis took hold of it to move it out of the way.

"Aunis?"

"Yes?"

"Where do we begin?"

"Hmm. Well, looking at the numbers, and the fact that we can't expect to influence too many people in our lifetimes. . . " she suddenly grinned. "You might make piles of reports, so we can throw them in the air and decide which Quadrenes to live among."

"Come closer," Tahir kissed Aunis tenderly, the way he'd wanted to for a long time. The kiss became passionate which was even better. When Aunis finally pulled away, she looked young and shy; certainly, Tahir felt young and shy right then. "We are doing this together? For the rest of our lives?"

Aunis tilted her head, "If you ask me."

"Will you marry me? And travel to dangerous lands with me, relying on our words and our Gods to help individuals exercise their free will?"

She laughed. "You make it sound so romantic. Yes and yes."

"But you have to promise that you'll stay alive as long as possible, even if your dreams of death are enticing."

Aunis frowned slightly. "I'd forgotten those dreams. I think I wasn't dreaming of death after all. I think I was dreaming of transformation. That something would happen that would change me and make life more appealing than death." She focused intently on Tahir, "And that's what happened."


End file.
